


Facciamo finta

by sesquipedalianMarquis



Series: The Meraad Chronicles [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Tabletop RPG), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: ? - Freeform, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Corny, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Height Differences, I Don't Even Know, Implied Sexual Content, POV Third Person, Ridiculous, Roleplay, Sappy, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Roleplay, Tal-Vashoth, Tropes, Undernegotiated Kink, Undressing, because I don't know Spanish, hints of D/s, indulgent in general, italian as Antivan, meraad is not ben-hassrath and refuses to pretend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesquipedalianMarquis/pseuds/sesquipedalianMarquis
Summary: Now that Lady Hidalga has acquired a large and capable lover, she intends to make the most of it. They play games, and I don't mean Diamondback.





	Facciamo finta

**Author's Note:**

> Assume that a safe-word has been discussed. I tagged for undernegotiated kink to be safe, because Meraad is not always 100% sure what she's going to spring on him next, but it's altogether rather tame.
> 
> Also, for your visual concerning their height difference: Lady Hidalga is around 165cm (5'5"). Meraad is 219cm (7'2"). Something to keep in mind.

“Would you look at that,” she says, and her voice is low in a way that makes him pay attention, has him hesitating in the doorway. “It does look like a scary Tal-Vashoth has found his way to my bedchambers.”

Ah. A game, then. He squares his shoulders, lowers his head. Looms in the doorway properly.

“Seems I’ve found the lady of the house,” he says, lets his voice go all deep, and she gives him a grin, there one second and gone the next.

“My,” she says, throws a look of mock fear his way. “You have, yes. It appears I’m captured. But I’m sure we can come to an agreement, here. I’m sure you know I’m rich. You let me go and I’ll have you dripping with gold and jewellery, more than you can carry. Rich as a king.”

He closes the door behind him with an audible click, shifts his stance forward.

“I don’t care for your _bas_ money.” He lets the inflection of Qunlat colour his voice stronger than usual, starts to cross the room with slow steps. Celeste lets him see a pleased look, then kicks up her voice a tad higher, all breathy nerves.

“Power, then, surely? I hold a lot of sway. I could get you instated, even a man like you, as a lord. You’d have a title.” He takes another step. “Servants.” Another. “Lands, a manor.” He’s only two steps away from the chair she’s sitting in now, looms over her with all his considerable height. Grins, all lazy and lecherous.

“Do you not know? The Tal-Vashoth do not care for such lofty things as your politics and lordships.” He pauses, then, leans back a little, raises his eyebrows. She smiles like a cat, nods, and curls back into herself in a display of fear, and Meraad resumes looming, gives that nasty grin again. “Keep your money, your power. I’ll have you instead.”

She gets to her feet, all clasping hands. He still towers head and shoulders over her, and she looks up at him through her lashes.

“Be gentle with me,” she whispers, and. He can’t do it. He cracks up, just a little bit, breaks eye contact and bites his lip so he doesn’t laugh. Celeste giggles and smacks him in the chest.

“Come on, you big lug! You were doing great!”

“Ah, I’m so sorry, Celeste, I just-” He’s chuckling now, drags his hand over his face. “Just, your face, fuck. Okay. I got it, I got it. I’m good.”

“Yes? You’re good?”

He nods, takes a deep breath, lets go of the urge to giggle.

“Yeah. I’m good to keep going.”

She grins up at him and it’s a sight to behold. He grins back.

“Alright. Let’s skip to the part where you ravish me. Don’t damage the robe, but you can rip the nightshirt right off me.”

So he gently slides her robe off, lifts her against the wall and kisses her senseless, and she laughs when he tosses her on the bed, loves the display of strength. The gauzy nightshirt tears under his fingers and she squirms when he pins down her wrists. He whispers filthy words in Qunlat to her and fucks her into the mattress until her toes curl. And then they rest, and she laughs at the torn pieces of the gown and tells him he makes a dashing brigand.

 

 

———

 

“Oh, this is indulgent,” she says, and waits for him to feed her another grape. Indulgent for him, sure, but for her? Her lips are soft against his fingertips. Everything about her is like silk. “Just laying around, wrapped in my lover. No thought to what would happen if word got out.” There’s a smile on her lips now, a mischief; she looks up at him through her lashes. “Whatever would my husband think if he found out?”

Ah. Like this, then. The steps to this game are maybe more foreign to him than they should be, not raised on tropes of forbidden passion, but he’s had a fair few years of hearing people talk.

“He won’t find out if we’re careful,” he says, searches her face to see if it’s the right reply, and she winks at him.

“Oh, but all this sneaking. We’re always so careful, but I’m always so scared to lose you.” He’s not an actor, but she is, so very much. If he didn’t know it was a game, he’d believe the way she swoons against his chest, takes his hand and rests her cheek against his palm. A play on the way he does the same when she wants his service, his obedience.

“You know I would duel him for your affections if I could make it legitimate. If only I was equal to his station, they would let me.” He strokes her cheek with his thumb, a tender touch, all gentleness.

“Oh, Meraad,” she sighs and flutters her eyelashes. “It’s not my affections you’d duel him for. My heart isn’t his.”

“Celeste, my love,” he says, “I’d cross the Amaranthine Ocean for you,” and he feels ridiculous, but she’s tilting her head up, lips just that bit parted. So he resists the urge to laugh and kisses her, all slow and sweet, and she sighs and flutters her fingers against his chest. They make love right there on the chaise, all gentle touch and soft kisses, almost too tender to bear, and she sighs _my love_ against his lips in a way that almost has him believing it. She laves him with Antivan endearment, _caro_ and _tesoro_ and _amore_ , and he returns it in Trade. It’s sweet as the wine they share, and he holds her so tenderly after, strokes hair from her face and cradles her in his arms. She giggles, strokes his jaw with her soft hands, _says wasn’t that fun? We should play at that again_ , and the next time they pretend to steal away from a party and fuck in the drawing room, hiding away, all hushed and hurried. She laughs when they get cleaned up afterwards, and Meraad lets himself feel content that he makes her happy.

 

 

———

 

“I would have you attend me as I bathe.” Her tone shouldn’t be a question, but Meraad feels like it is, either way. He smiles and bows his head to her.

“As you desire, my Lady.”

She smiles back, warm and soft like the evening sun.

So, a day later, he attends to her as she bathes. He’s just in breeches, no shirt, no shoes – she looks surprised when she sees, but pleased. Eyes him like a meal.

“Come here,” she says, and he does. She holds out her hand, and he doesn’t hesitate to go on one knee, kisses her hand. She taps him on the nose and smiles.

“Undress me.”

“As you wish, signora.” She’s all laced up in her fancy clothes, and it probably takes him too long to figure out the catches and ties and all. His fingers are too big for it, really. Maybe it would be faster if he ripped through the delicate fabrics with the four claws he hasn’t trimmed. It’s an entertaining thought, but he manages to get her out of her expensive layers, all careful. She waits, patience herself, moves her hair aside and her arms around to help him, like an unfamiliar dance. Maybe, he thinks idly, she enjoys having him undress her so slowly. She turns as she shrugs off her underthings and he offers her his hand, leads her to the tub. The water in it, heated by runes, cloaks the room in a sweet fragrance. Magnolias, a bit of sandalwood. She steps into the tub and relaxes into the water with a soft sigh.

Meraad fetches her a plate of fruit from the kitchens, holds it for her. He washes her hair, rinses her off with water from a pitcher, helps her into a plush robe. The scent of magnolias clings to her when they leave the bathroom, follows her like an afterthought, like Meraad, two steps behind. Their footfalls don’t sound on the plush carpet.

There’s something solemn about the way she has him kneel like a supplicant in front of her large armchair. She wraps herself in the dignity of her birthright, sits the chair it like it’s her throne. Her hand brushes his cheek and Meraad leans into it like he’s grateful for the honour of her touch, lets his eyes drift closed until she lets go, opens the knot of her robe, stretches out a leg. He hooks one hand under her knee, kisses up her thigh. Meraad is not a godly man, not for animist gods or spirits or Andraste, but this kind of worship suits him just fine.

 

 

———

 

“You like our games, Meraad.”

He looks over at where she’s perched in the nook by the window, reading. Well, was reading. She’s looking at him now, expectant.

“I do, my Lady.”

“Hmm. Would you want to play at something more Northern, sometime? I think it would be fun, if you played at proper Qunari.”

He frowns down at the book he was reading. The other games were fun. Surely Celeste would find fun in this, too. But _ebost issala_ sticks in his mind, and he doesn’t think he would find the fun in it the way she does. To get out of a sticky situation, sure, he’s pretended to be proper Qunari for that, to save him trouble with nosy humans. But not like this.

“No. I don’t think I could enjoy that.”

“Ah. Never mind that, then.” She strokes her chin. “Another thought. You know about the Antivan Crows, yes?”

Yes, the Crows. Irene.

“I do,” he says, and he thinks he likes where this is going.

“Well, now, I thought we could…”


End file.
